Chekov's Birthday
by Elena Flooney
Summary: It's Chekov's 18th, but he's not in a very joyful mood. Scotty offers a bit of comfort for our favorite little ensign.


**A/N: My friend and I wrote this at one in the morning… No flames.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, never have owned, wish I could someday own, but won't.**

Pavel Chekov walked slowly down the hall, reluctant to turn each corner, reluctant to reach the doorway that he knew was coming ever closer – his rooms.

He knew that when he arrived at his destination, he would be met with a crowd of exuberant faces. He didn't want to reach that point – didn't know how to respond to all their anxious excitement – and yet he could hardly put it off for much longer. He was, after all, returning to _his_ rooms – he couldn't delay that arrival for long.

It was his birthday. Today, Chekov was turning 18. It was a day he had anxiously awaited for so long – the day he was no longer a kid, the day he became just like the rest of the crew in the levels of maturity and respect – and yet now that it was here, he didn't know how to face all the people that were eagerly anticipating his arrival. Didn't know how to react when they smothered him with excitement and cheers. Because he didn't feel like celebrating – he felt like being by himself.

Back home, a birthday wasn't something one celebrated. It just meant you got to work even harder than you had last year. 18 meant it was time that a man started thinking about finding a woman and getting out of his parents' home, if he was still there.

That was why he'd left.

But the others couldn't understand. They couldn't know that where he came from, a birthday was not to be celebrated, but mourned. And in the deep, icy silence of space, they needed any chance they had to be happy about something. So he couldn't take this away from them. They needed a few hours to just get excited about something. He could appreciate that. Just not today.

Chekov reached the corridor that led to his rooms and stopped. He could hear their laughter all the way from where he stood, drifting over from behind the closed door. He closed his eyes and felt the coldness spread through his body. How could he make them understand that this was not a moment for celebration, but instead, a day in which he had to come to terms with the choices he'd made for the rest of his life. The day he had to wake up and become a man, leaving his innocence behind. Why couldn't they see that? Why did they all have to make it so hard?

Pavel sat down on the floor in the hallway, clenching his hands together in a tight knot. He couldn't face them all. He could see all their smiling faces in his mind – Dr. McCoy, the man who disapproved of his age and his immaturity – Spock, the man whose mother he had let die – Kirk, the captain who had placed so much authority on him in the past year, the man who had believed in him – and yet how could he live up to it when he still felt so young, so unprepared? How, he wondered, could he prove his worth to all of them when in fact, he wasn't even sure he could prove it to himself?

He heard footsteps coming down the hall and he stood up quickly, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Walking towards him he saw Scotty.

The Engineer started to give him a smile, until he noted Chekov's hapless expression.

"What're you doing out here? A few steps down there's half the crew crammed into one officer's quarters. That's something people pay money to see!" Scotty tried, motioning the way he'd come.

"I- I do not think… I want to celebrate." Chekov slid back to his seat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his knees up to his chest.

"Well, you can't sit out here all night."

Pavel closed his eyes and leaned his head back contentedly. "I have slept less comfortable places."

"But have you ever slept less comfortable places when you have Alpha shift in the morning?"

"Yes. I have been left in a Jeffries Tube overnight. The engineer working with me closed it before I got out."

"Who was that?" Scotty asked, appalled. One did not leave their best genius in a small space like that for longer than necessary.

"I don't think I'll say. Don't tell everyone where I am, yes? Because… I don't want to talk to them."

Scotty sighed, and sank to the floor beside the younger man. "Alright, what's so the matter that you don't go to Uhura or Nurse Chapel instead of sitting out here in hallway?"

"I just… In my home, we do not celebrate for birthdays. We apologize to the one who is turning a year older. Back home, all it means is that life is that much harder from now on. I do not want to celebrate today, because today, turning eighteen, means that I cannot hide behind being too young anymore. People have always expected so much of me, because of who I am. Now that I am not a child, they will expect even more! And what do I do then?"

Scotty leaned his head back against the wall and gazed up at the ceiling. "Well, this is your home now, my friend," he said. "We have different rules for birthdays here, I'd say."

"It does not make a difference," muttered Chekov glumly, hiding his face. "I will never be able to – to think of it differently."

"Pavel," Scotty turned to the younger man, a look of surprise crossing his face. "Do you really think that, lad? Do you really think that we'll all judge you more harshly just because another year's gone by?"

Pavel nodded.

"Look, we don't let you get away with anything just because you're young, ensign. We all know how hard you work – I know the Captain knows as well as anyone – and just because you're another year older doesn't mean we'll stop understanding how hard you work in everything you do around here. We expect so much of you only because we know you can do it. And," Scotty put his hand on Chekov's shoulder, looking him earnestly in the eye. "We're damn proud of you. Because you always live up to what we know you can do."

Chekov blinked in surprise and turned away, his eyes stinging with tears. "But – sometimes I fail you. I know that," he stammered.

"Aye, sometimes you miss a target by a couple degrees, or misread an instrument, but I'd like you to name one person aside from Spock who hasn't. You don't _fail_, Pavel. Failing is, by my definition, falling down and not getting back up. It's not the act of falling that's the failure; it's giving up after that. And when was the last time your didn't catch your own mistakes?"

Pavel felt a single tear trace its way down his cheek, and blushed as he wiped it away roughly. "It does not matter. To me, failing simply means to cause irreparable damage. I have done that, plenty of times."

"Pavel… Listen here. It really doesn't matter how many times you miss something, or how bad a thing that mistake causes. Lord knows no one on this ship has anything near a flawless record – well, except Spock. This ship is your home now, and we're all your family, and a family doesn't fall apart because one person forgets to take out the trash," he rubbed Chekov's arm in a simple act of comfort. "The point I'm trying to make here, ensign, is that this is your home, and no matter how many birthdays you celebrate – or don't celebrate – you're still one of us. And we know that you're doing the best you can. Everyone here has made mistakes too."

Chekov laughed shakily. "Except for Mr. Spock," he added.

Scotty laughed with him. "Yeah, all except for him."

Pavel ran a hand across his eyes. "Thank you, Scotty," he said earnestly.

Scotty smiled. "Are you ready to go face them now?" He asked.

"No. But I can try anyway."

"That's the spirit." Scotty got to his feet, and gave Chekov a hand up. "And just so you know," he added as they made their way down the hall, "We don't care how many birthdays you have; you're always gonna be the kid around here."

"And when someone younger than me inevitably comes aboard?"

Scotty thought for a minute. "You're still gonna be the kid. You're Chekov. It can't be helped."


End file.
